Шах И Мат
by najiro
Summary: Control. To him, they were only chesspieces, items for him to manipulate and capture. But he forgot they had wills of their own- they would carve their own destinies in the history of the world. 1945-Modern Times. WARNING: Rape, violence, coarse language.
1. Act I, Scene i : Kegyvesztettség

**Act I  
****Scene i  
**  
**Kegyvesztettség / Fall From Grace**

Blood. She could smell it, feel it running down her forehead, sticking to her brow and sliding down her nose. Her mossy green eyes were glazed with pain and confusion, dazed as she was from the blow to her temple. She could hear the chaos around her, the shouts and screams of men and women around her. The sound of gunfire, the blast of artillery shells in the distance. The shouts of the Russian and Ukrainian invaders. War had finally come to her beloved Budapest, her last stronghold against the Soviet forces. War had come. And she and her people had lost.

The soldiers of the Red Army dragged her with them, laughing and talking in Russian. She couldn't understand them. She didn't want to. She only wanted to be free from their grasps, from their alcohol-scented breath. She was too weak. Her vain attempts at a struggle only served to make the men laugh more. Slowly, she gave up, and allowed the invaders to carry her body like a ragdoll.

She was dragged up the stairs, passing locked doors where she heard the sick sound of flesh upon flesh, women and girls alike crying out. She heard them so easily, each one piercing to her very heart. Their vain cries to Szent Szûz (1). Their futile pleas to her, their country, their protector. They deplored their captors, trying to get them to stop. To have some decency. Some humanity. Of course they wouldn't stop. They were men, receiving their spoils of war. They were men, that couldn't understand her or her people, and had no qualms in violating the maidens of her land. Her blood boiled, and she struggled once more, breaking the grip of one of the men. The other detained her with ease.

The room that awaited her was small and dimly lit. The windows had been covered with thick cloth, letting light only peek through the cracks. No candles were burning. No bulbs were illuminated in the lamps she could see through the darkness. Not that it mattered. Electricity probably wasn't running in the building, the siege having taken most of the power out of the city. The men shoved her into the room, closing and locking the door behind her, leaving her to wait. She curled up, trying to ignore the screams from the streets and the screams from the rooms. The slow, dying, powerless screams.

She did not know how long she waited for someone to drag her out of that hell. For someone to enter it, for her to strangle and bloody and attempt one last stand against. Heavy footfalls sounded outside of her door, the old floorboards of the creaking under the weight of the man. She heard the rattle of the key in the lock, the whine of the hinges as it swung open. And there he stood, his violent violet eyes shining with the embers of bloodlust. His platinum hair was matted with blood, his gloved hand wiping at his face, smearing the red liquid off of his cheek. His jacket, his shirt, his gloves, his boots. All reeked with blood. The blood of her people.

"Vengriya (2)," He smiled, closing the door behind him. She cringed, not liking the sound of her name in his language. "You have fallen to me, Vengriya." He taunted her. His voice, so childlike, so calm and sweet, was marred by the undercurrent of madness. She already felt herself backing away. She gulped, trying to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat. Trying to get her eyes to remain hard, to show no fear.

"I haven't fallen to you yet. I could still have one last-" He had back her into a corner, his amythest eyes glowing dangerously as he placed his arms on either side of her, pinning her between the cracking walls of the room. A sadistic smile creeped across his face, and she felt her breath hitch in her lungs, her heart almost stopping in her chest.

"No, you will not." He growled, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "You belong to me now." He pulled her close, pushing her to the floor. She swung her leg out, trying to connect it with his thigh. He caught her ankle, pulling her leg roughly to her right. He kneeled down between her legs, and she reached up, clawing at his face. Three bright red gashes marred his face, thin droplets of blood pooling on his pale skin. He slammed her wrist down, hard, pressing her hand back with such force she was scared he'd break it. "Do not make this any more difficult for you than it needs to be, suka (3)." He spat, all gentleness in his voice gone. "You belong to _**ME**_." He pressed harder, and she could feel the strain in her wrist reaching breaking point. "You answer to _**ME**_." Her wrist snapped and she cried out in pain.

"I control you." He whispered, leaning close to her face. She could smell the vodka on his breath. He was just as drunk as the men who brought her here. She glared at him, her green eyes defiant, ignoring the tears that fell from the corners of her, tracing lines down her face. He pulled the glove off her left hand, chuckling at the simple golden band still perched upon her finger. "So. The rumors were true. You still wear his ring on your finger." Roughly, he pulled it off her hand, tossing it into the shadows without a second thought. "Too bad you are no longer his." He chuckled, pressing into her palm again with much force. Her wrist broke easily.

"Let me go." She hissed through clenched teeth, tears still stinging at her eyes. "Let me go! Fight me like a man!" This was humiliating. Perhaps that was the point. He was showing her that he was dominant. That she would be punished if she defied him. That she didn't stand a chance against the vast power known as him. She suddenly felt his thumbs against her vocal cords, pressing and making her gag.

"You talk far too much, did you know that, Vengriya?" He laughed, pressing harder against her throat. He pushed her head back and forth, the base of her skull slamming into the wood until she bled. She could only see stars, could only see darkness. Her senses were dulled, her body limp and unmoving. Immobilized.

She barely felt him pull the zipper of her pants down, the cool air brushing against her naked skin. She tried to think of a happier time, her eyes squeezing shut as the sound of a zipper echoed in her ears. A green field filled with small white flowers. Two young children, one blonde, one brunette, playing their childhood games. The warm glow of the sun upon her skin.

She could feel his body, pressed against hers, the pain in her abdomen as he violated her. Her eyes squeezed tighter as she tried to suppress her screams. Her husband, playing the piano, a beautiful waltz emanating from the ivory keys. She focused on the phantom music, trying to drown out the sickening sound of flesh upon flesh.

He finally let her go once he was spent, leaving her half naked and half unconscious on the floor. His footsteps echoed against her brain, and she could hear him talking to someone just outside the door. Hungarian, for her benefit. That bastard…

"Please clean her up, sister, so we can bring her home." That cursed, child-like tone rang in her ears as she faded into black. Budapest was lost. She had been thrown into hell. "Welcome to the Soviet Union, Vengriya…"

* * *

Historical notes:

The Siege of Budapest (December 29, 1944- February 13, 1945) was Hungary's last major stand against the Red Army at the end of WWII. It was one of the bloodiest sieges of WWII. The result was 419,082-470,082 deaths, injuries, missing, or sick on both sides. 40,000 civilians perished in the conflict. An estimated 50,000 women, Hungarian civilians, were raped during the siege. Hungarian girls were kidnapped and taken to Red Army quarters, where they were imprisoned, repeatedly raped, and sometimes murdered.

* * *

Language notes:

Title: Шах И Мат - Checkmate. Russian.

1. Szent Szûz - Blessed Virgin. Hungarian

2. Vengriya- Hungary. Russian

3. Suka – Bitch. Russian.

* * *

Author's notes:

First off, let me say, writing this piece was extremely difficult. I do /not/ enjoy writing about rape. I do not enjoy writing about violence. But this idea burrowed itself into my brain and WOULD NOT LET GO.

Thus, I felt compelled to write about how Hungary fell into the Soviet Union's clutches.  
Now. If you don't mind, I need to go get some mind soap and go throw up from this story.

EDIT: I will /not/ be deleting this story. In fact, it will be expanding. My friend Puffi The Insane (.net/~puffitheinsane), will be co-writing this story with me. We will take turns with each chapter, or 'scene', until the story has been told. My chapters will focus on Hungary, her's will focus on Ukraine.  
If you have any further questions, please message me.


	2. Act I, Scene ii : Myloserdia

**Act I  
Scene ii**

**Mylos_e_rdia / Mercy**

Budapest is falling to pieces around her, and Ukraine feels sick to her stomach.

She knew they would attack- knew what it would entail- but not like _this_. She can hear the women- _some of them are just_ _girls_ _what sick fucks have they taken into their army_- screaming, begging in a tongue she doesn't understand. She knows what they're begging for, though. She knows that tone, recognizes it from a long time ago when she herself had used it-

Dear god, _not like this_.

She sees another girl being pulled away, sees her sobbing and pleading-

"Stop!" The order rings out before she can stop _herself_, and the men look at her strangely. Ukraine forces down the tremor in her voice.

"Take her to the chambers with the useless ones." _Leave her alone._ The soldiers look like they want to say something, mouths opening a little. In the end, they don't argue with her, and the girl looks at her with a mixture of gratitude and hatred.

Then Russia calls her name, tells her they've found Hungary, and Ukraine feels like General Winter just wrapped her in his arms.

She tries not to think about what's happening behind her, even as Hungary yells at her brother, tells him to fight her on equal terms-

He won't. Ukraine knows he won't, but she wishes he would.

The door opens, and he- well, she supposes it's technically a smile.

"Please clean her up, sister, so we can bring her home." He's speaking in Hungarian. He's doing this just to hurt her.

Russia glances over his shoulder, smiling back at the room. "Welcome to the Soviet Union, Vengriya…"

Ukraine feels sick again, and for a moment she just watches her brother walk away- always, always _away_, leaving _her_ to clean up all his messes-

"You became just like _him_."

The venom in her voice surprises even her, but she won't take back her words. Russia pauses, looks at her as she picks up her cloths and medical supplies- he comes _this close_ to saying something, but doesn't. He knows, in the end, Ukraine is both his sword and shield. And that alone makes her more dangerous than any enemy.

He walks away, leaving her to her thoughts and the broken shell of a nation in the room behind her.

Forcing down a wave of pity at the sight that greets her, Ukraine places her supplies down next to Hungary, and gets to work. She starts talking, to distract herself as she brushes a damp cloth over the other woman's thighs.

"…I'm sorry. I didn't…" She falters. A lie. "…I knew. I should have stopped him, but I didn't. I'm sorry, Hungary. I will try to keep you safe from him in the future. I am not as strong as him, but I am still his older sister." She's not sure who she's convincing.

After most of the mess is gone, Ukraine sets about with pulling off Hungary's shirt, slipping a simple dress over her instead. It may not be fancy, but it's clean and the most she can do.

The other whimpers slightly in pain, still unconscious, when Ukraine touches her wrist. "Oh- right. I'm sorry." Russia had broken it.

It takes her a minute, but she figures out a way to brace it without hurting Hungary too badly. The nauseous feeling comes back as she looks for more wounds- though aside from some nasty bruises and the cut on her forehead, the new Soviet state (and doesn't _that_ make her feel worse) is physically unharmed.

Soldiers are coming in now, talking about orders and taking the girl to Russia-

"No. She is going to ride with me." She can't leave her alone with Russia again. "Take her to my quarters- and you will die if you touch her."

The warning is enough, and they pull Hungary's unconscious form out with a care they wouldn't have normally taken. Ukraine watches silently as they leave, looking at the room around her, still echoing with the screams of other women- ones she couldn't save.

"…For what it's worth, Uhorshchyny (1)... I'm sorry."

* * *

Historical notes:

Relations between Russia and Ukrain reached an all-time low during WWII. Also, it was a combination of Ukrainian and Russian troops that seiged Budapest, not just Russian.

* * *

Language notes:

1. Uhorshchyny - Hungary. Ukranian.

* * *

Author's notes:

And now we have a weird, introspective look into Ukraine's thoughts.


	3. Act I, Scene iii : Szabályok

**Act I**  
**Scene iii**

**Szabályok / Rules**

She didn't know how much time had passed. She didn't know where she was or what she was doing here. All she knew was that she was cold. Her clover eyes opened slowly, her head trying to make sense of her surroundings. The throbbing agony in her wrists compressed her breath into a pained hiss, the dull ache in her abdomen pulsating with hurt. Memories slowly rushed back to her.

That's right. He had broken her wrists. He had left her ruined on the floor, a used plaything for his enjoyment.

Her rage grew, then faded. A mere spark of fire in a sea of pain and humiliation. She didn't feel clean. She needed to wash herself. She needed to get rid of the lingering feel of his fingers at his neck, his flesh against hers.  
Nausea hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed the bitter bile down. No use in getting sick.

Ignoring the broken bones and wooden splints, the thick bandages that wound their way around her hands, down her arms, stopping just short of the elbow, she pushed herself up, wincing. She tried to examine the environment, forcing her eyes to focus on her surroundings. Anything to distract her from the memories that flickered in her eyes. A small, broken window was across from her, boarded up with thick wood, a moth-eaten curtain vainly trying to hide its shattered state. The floors were simple, wooden, with no rug to attempt to warm the icy bones of timber. The bed she found herself in was misshapen, warped with age and use. The mattress squeaked as she moved.

She had been clothed in a simple flannel nightgown, pure white, her face and body washed with thoughtfulness. She had not been harmed further in the forgotten journey to this strange, cold room in this strange, cold land. "A woman did this." She muttered to herself. Russia had sisters. Her state showed obvious signs of feminine care. No man would have treated her so gently, not a Russian man, in any case. It had to have been one of his sisters.

The ground seemed to sway below her as she tried to walk. Her head still throbbed from where he had slammed it against the forbidding floor. Her eyes still tried to focus. Had she been drugged? No. It wouldn't have **hurt** so much if she had been drugged… Her damaged hands fumbled with the latch on the door, swinging it outwards. A long, lonely hallway greeted her, as sparse and bleak as the room she had been in before. Three doors lined the hallway, two on the right, and one on the left. The doors were dark, she noted, a murky brown that stood out like shadows from the dingy grey of the cracked walls. The floors were bare, the wood warped and splintered in places. Uneven.  
She almost felt like she was drunk as she moved down the hallway.

"T-Tovarisch Vengriya! (1)" A voice called to her as she made her way to the top of the stairs. A young man, brunette with green eyes, dropped the empty bucket he was holding in order to race up the stairs, probably to usher her back to her bed and tell her to stay there. She knew him. And he had greeted her strangely, in that bastard's bloody language.

"Litwa. (2)" She replied, leaning slightly against the wall. He froze, paling, his eyes darting nervously to the door. Gently, he grabbed her arm, quietly leading her back down the hallway. She continued speaking to him in Polish, "Poland had told me you had been recaptured by the Bastard… Before he got captured himself…"

"Please, Miss Hungary." A pleading tone, she noted. He was desperate. "Please, don't use any language other than Russian. He'll get mad." She pulled her arm away from him, raising her chin slightly, looking him dead in the eye.

"What do I care if he gets mad? I won't be here for long. I am my own country, and I-" She noted the worried expression on his face, the way his hands tightened around her arm, as if he was trying to get her to understand. "… Lithuania. I'm not going to sit here and suffer. I'm not going to let him beat me into submission. I'm not a coward. I can still fight…." As long as the ground was even. As long as he didn't pin her to the floor, violate her…  
Another wave of nausea washed over her, her body doubling over, her flesh screaming for something to wipe away the memories of him. The feel of _**him**_.

"Hungary?" He asked, concerned, placing a gentle hand on her back. She couldn't reveal her weakness. Not to him. Not to anyone.  
"I'm fine." She replied, a false smile blooming on her face. "Just… Could… I get some water? And some cloth? I need to get…" _Rid of him. _"Clean."

His face fell as he looked away, almost guiltily. "I-I'm sorry, Miss Hungary… I can't do that…. Russia told me not to, and… Well…" He couldn't disobey his rules. She knew that he couldn't. He was yoked around the neck by that Russian. Any form of acting out would be suppressed swiftly and violently.

"I'll bring you something to eat, though." He said with a smile, guiding her back to her room. "Just… give me a moment. I need to finish cleaning."  
"… Is Poland here?" She asked. She needed to talk to her friend. She needed to talk and laugh and smile with him. To plan their escapes.  
"… He is… But he's…" He sighed, looking away. "He's injured, too."

With a pathetic smile, he closed the door. She lay back in the bed, staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling. She would not stay here long. She would get them all out of this hell. This, she vowed.

* * *

Historical Notes:  
Poland's capital, Warsaw, was captured in October of 1944, before the seige of Budapest even began.

Hungary and Poland are considered to be best friends. They even celebrate a Friendship Day (March 23)! Their friendship has dated back to the Middle Ages, when Poland and Hungary shared the same king.  
Also, Lithuania and Poland were in a union (Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, 1569-1795).  
((This is why they can both speak and understand each other in Polish.))

* * *

Language Notes:  
1. Tovarisch Vengriya - Comerade Hungary. Russian. (Comarade was used in the Soviet Union in place of Miss, Mr., or Mrs.)  
2. Litwa - Lithuania. Polish.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
A bit of fillertastic drabble. This story isn't really going to get moving until the war is over and the other members of the Soviet States join the household. After all, Russia and Ukraine are still out there fighting- Invading Austria and Prussia both!  
Anyway, believe me, this is going to get more interesting... Promise!


	4. Act I, Scene iv : Obyanznost

**Act I, Scene iv  
Obyanznost / Duty**

"M-miss Ukraine? You cal- asked for me?"

Ukraine almost jumps in fright at the sound of Lithuania's voice, but manages to suppress the reflex and give the other nation a smile.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for coming so fast."

He offers her a smile back, but it's thick with worry and a tinge of fear. Something inside Ukraine _twists_ to see the nation that was her leader (_captor_, some long-forgotten part of her snarls, still bitter and marinated in hatred) so terrified of her. No, not of her, she mentally corrects. Of _Russia_, and he just sees her as an extension of Russia.

She doesn't- _can't_- blame him. Most everyone sees her that way now.

"Miss Ukraine?"

Ukraine _does_ jump a bit this time, Lithuania's voice startling her out of her thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry… I was just… H-how are Poland and Hungary?" The question slips out before she can really stop it, having been dancing around her thoughts for a while now.

Lithuania pauses, having not been expecting that. "They're…" He's quiet for a moment, searching for the right term. "…alive." He finally answers, not quite looking her in the eye.

Ukraine nods, although it's more for her benefit than Lithuania's- it's familiar, routine. A proper response. Not much is proper anymore. "I suppose that is better than it could be, right?"

Lithuania tries to force a smile- she can see it in the tiny curve in his mouth that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I-I suppose." He pauses, "Why did you want to speak with me, Miss Ukraine?"

"Well, I…" Ukraine hesitates now; what she wants to ask him could get them both in quite a bit of trouble with Russia. But… she _has_ to ask. She can't just do this without… "…I was hoping you could you tell Hungary something for me?"

The brunet blinks at her, obviously confused as to why she would need him to deliver a message to someone within the same house. When he finally speaks, the words are carefully thought out and slow, hazarding a guess as to why she wants him to do this. "…Russia has barred you from speaking to her?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that." It's not a bad guess- him doing such a thing wouldn't be surprising anymore, the bitter part of her adds silently, but Ukraine forcefully squashes the train of thought. "This is just…" She struggles for a moment to find a way to phrase it. "…Something she should really hear from a friend. I… think it would be better that way."

Lithuania's brow furrows a little as he frowns at her. "I'm… not really a close friend of hers, but…"

She can't stop the half-wistful, half-sad smile that comes to her lips as she finishes the sentence for him. "But you're not her enemy. I am. I'm… I'm okay with that." Not really, but she has to be. She doesn't have a choice anymore.

The man in the doorway shifts uncomfortably. "I don't think she…" He falters though- they both know none of Hungary's feelings right now are positive.

"…I'm leaving, the day after tomorrow." She's the one who falters now, looking down at her hands, because this is still a difficult thing to admit- even to the one person besides her family who still has some sort of faith in her, who doesn't think she has become a monster. "…I will be meeting Bulgaria, and… And we will be beginning an offensive on Austria." She can already feel the tears burning at her eyes, hear the catch in her voice- she's almost choking on the sense of _shame_ at having to do this, at having to tell Hungary like this.

Just out of the corner of her eyes, she watches Lithuania's eyes widen, sees him open his mouth to say _something_- maybe something comforting, but Ukraine isn't sure she can handle _anything_ he'd say. "Please tell her that I will do everything within my power to keep Austria safe. If I can, I will have him brought back to Kyiv with me, so he can remain safe even when the rest of the troops follow the Germans, should everything be successful." She can't stop the words tumbling out of her mouth now, search desperately for any way she can to make this up to the other woman.

She's become so enveloped in the myriad of thoughts racing through her head, trying to get them out in some sort of coherent stream of words, that Lithuania's hand gently touching her shoulder almost sends her tumbling out of her chair in surprise.

"I… She will understand, Ukraina." His voice is almost softer than his touch, and Ukraine forces herself to look up from her hands, finding him kneeling in front of her. "You are doing what you must. She will understand."

The smile on his face now, soft and welcoming, is so familiar, reminding her of a long-past time when he had first come to her home, after _finally_ driving out the Mongols, telling her he wasn't going to hurt her or the two children cowering behind her…

In the end, she's not sure if it's the memories, the smile, or just the fact she can't hold it in any longer, but something inside her _snaps_. She finally feels the tears start to drip down, and she can't stop herself from flinging her arms around Lithuania's shoulders or burying her face in his neck to muffle her sobs.

He doesn't seem very surprised, accepting her into his arms with a gentleness that's just as _achingly familiar_ as that smile, and he just lets her cry.

Ukraine's not sure how long they stay like that, or how long it takes before she stops shaking, but eventually she pulls away and wipes at her face. She can't quite bring herself to look at Lithuania, but she manages to smile. "I… Thank you. I needed that." Her voice sounds rough, even to her own ears, and she's thankful the other doesn't say anything.

She tries to steel herself, tries to force down the emotions spinning and churning near the surface of her thoughts, and looks at Lithuania. "…I-is there anything Hungary needs?" For all her attempts at calming herself, her voice still trembled a little.

If the other notices, though, he says nothing, and frowns a little in thought. "She… has asked for a bath. But, Russia…" He trails off.

Ukraine bites her lower lip, mind trying to think of some way to allow Hungary _that_, at least. "…I am to be meeting with Russia later tonight, in about half an hour. You… Yes, that could work. Take Hungary to my room in about thirty-five minutes. We are supposed to receive a call from Belarus, so we should be occupied for an hour or so. She'll have to be quick, but..."

Lithuania smiles at her, straightening. "That would make her very happy, I'm sure. I'll tell her right away."

Ukraine manages a smile back, trying to hide the nerves churning in her stomach.

He moves to leave, but he pauses in the doorway, glancing back at her. "Ukraina?"

"Ah- yes?"

That smile crosses his lips again. "You're welcome." And just as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

She stares after him for a few moments, before looking back at her hands. They're clenched into fists, although she can't remember doing that. She forces herself to relax, and busies herself with trying to find her hat before the meeting.

She always loses track of that damn thing. If she were any less logical, she'd swear it ran away from her just to stress her out.

* * *

Language notes:

If you don't know what Ukraina means, you don't need to be reading this story.

* * *

Historical notes:

The reason she's leaving is the Vienna Offensive, carried out by the Third Ukrainian Front and the First Bulgarian Army; putting this fic chapter in mid-to-late March.

* * *

Author's notes:

This chapter was hell to write. That is all.


End file.
